


You're My Hobby

by TalentedLoser



Series: Knitting Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:37:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalentedLoser/pseuds/TalentedLoser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel needed a hobby. Opportunity struck, and he was creating items for his partner. Of course, Dean was his muse. Who else would be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're My Hobby

**Author's Note:**

> HEY. This is my first verse, with loads of headcanons in my head about a domestic!Destiel--with hobby/knitting!Cas! You can certainly request items to be made by Cas for Dean, but I do have items lined up for a linear plot, so interludes/drabbles would be cute and cuddly.  
> So yeah, this is #1 out of MY 13 items. Think of this chapter as a prologue. Yep.
> 
> Enjoy!

The first thing Cas knitted for Dean was a scarf.

No, Cas did not magically make a scarf overnight—actually, if it hadn’t been for Dean’s comment some nights ago, Cas would have never thought about knitting in his life. “Cas, dude, you need a hobby” sung like a mantra in his head, and while he knew Dean had his with the Impala, he didn’t really like how short-fused Dean could get when Cas watched him work on her. It was what sparked the comment in the first place.

So he hunted (how ironic, especially for how the hunter and Cas, along with Sam, were done with the hunting lifestyle) for a hobby. He liked to think it was divine intervention that made him bump into one of the churchgoers, Agnes, at the bookstore while he perused the crafts and hobbies section. She was a sweet elderly lady who baked cookies for everyone at the church, and had such a small voice but could project it for the whole neighborhood to hear it. After talking about the service from the past Sunday, he somehow slipped out his predicament, and she suggested knitting. “We and a few ladies at the church love to knit, and we have a little club, too. You are always welcome, Castiel, and they’d love to have you.”

Cas kept it secret from Dean. It wasn’t hard, though. Dean was the only source of income, and with the hours he got at the plant, Cas never really saw him during the day, except on the weekends. He cherished those moments with him, every moment, really, but those two days seemed the least busy, especially how much they spent in bed.

Nonetheless, when Dean was off at the plant, and after what he found to be an interesting but successful trip to the crafts store with Agnes—he didn’t realize how important a set of needles could be to someone—he was at Agnes’. He sat in a small circle at her house with Elsie (always smiled with a yellow hat on her head), Gertrude (hardly said a word because her dentures liked to fall out), Bonnie (African-American from Tennessee), Hazel (African-American from New York, with a fake eye), and Fay (youngest of the group, besides Cas, and only one without glasses, besides Cas). Of course, they welcomed him with wide-open eyes.

“Come on, child, sit on down and feel at home,” Bonnie patted the empty chair next to her when he arrived. He took it with hesitation, but when he sat he noticed all the smiles on their faces. “We ain’t never had such a young man like yourself in our group. What made you come?”

As he answered, Elsie held out a plate of little apple fritters for him to try. He thanked her (they were really good—he’d have to ask for the recipe to try at home). “Dean had thought it would be best if I had a hobby,” he stated.

“Oh, that handsome man we’ve seen at the supermarket every Thursday night!”

That sounded right, Cas thought. He nodded.

The women hummed. “Castiel, he’s such a keeper! Such a kind spirit—I remember he got a jar of pickles down from the top shelf for me. Brightest smile when I thanked him!” Fay kept a palm on her cheek, recollecting the event.

Cas smiled. “I am grateful to have him.”

“Oh, don’t you let that man go. Such a good-looking man, too,” replied Elsie.

Fay snorted. “And probably not too bad at night,” and the women started to laugh. Cas couldn’t disagree, but bent his head to hide his small smile. Bonnie rested a hand on his knee, and he glanced up.

“Oh, ladies, you went and gone embarrassed the man! Don’t listen to them, they like to gossip over everything.”

Gertrude pulled out her project (Cas could see it was a snowman, judging just from the small portion of the body completed) as she spoke out. “Like you are one to talk, pressed against the glass of your home to know and talk about everything.”

The women laughed again. Cas relaxed. He rather enjoyed the circle of women. Sure, everyone knew him and Dean were together romantically in town, but not everyone seemed to welcome their “kind,” as some would say. That was mostly the men—the women, of course, loved them. And they were nice and sweet elderly women who seemed to always smile about the little things, so it was a little extra bonus.

Agnes just smiled to him. “Have you ever knitted before, dear?”

Cas shook his head.

“Oh, ladies, we have to teach him!” Hazel seemed to bounce in her chair. The women put their projects in their respected laps.

“I had figured I could watch long enough to understand how to use—” he glanced at the black needles in his hands, “these.”

Agnes shook her head. “We’re all too far ahead for you to do that. We don’t mind teaching you the simple things, honey! We got all the time in the world,” and all the women agreed. They all smiled, too. “You’ll learn how to hold those and work fast like the rest of us, all in no time.”

Cas frowned. “Are you sure you do not mind?”

Hazel huffed. “It’s not every day we see a face like yours with us.”

So he learned the basics, from holding the needles (“No, Castiel, like this!”), to putting the yarn on his needles (“Honey, if your tail is gonna be that long, you might as well start buying more yarn from all you’re wastin’ here”). It took a significant amount of time from repeating his actions over and over before he got the hang of it, but he was proud of himself. And so were the women. They praised him for a job well done, and even praised that, for a beginner, he picked up rather well. Plus he got treats throughout the whole ordeal, so he really couldn’t complain.

When he had a first row on his needle, his smile was soft. The women clapped for him and joked about how the next row would only take maybe fifty minutes to get added to his project! Which, in hindsight, he hadn’t a clue what to make. “You could make something for Dean, Castiel,” said Elsie. “Maybe he hinted at something he wanted?”

He remembered a remark weeks ago, in a morning. He complained about the cold weather coming in from the north through Minot, and mumbled about needing something. With their limited funds on practically everything (he would probably have to tell Dean eventually, as money does not just disappear), even the smallest items could not be bought. They were lucky to have the furniture they owned (especially the ugly plaid couch they got at a garage sale), the dishes that were cracked and broken, the bed that creaked, and everything else. Dean promised Cas a good human life, and Cas said the same back.

“A scarf,” he whispered. Cas wanted to keep Dean comfortable and warm, and he couldn’t do that with the harsh winter to come without something to keep him warm.

So the women set to work with Cas on how to make a simple, but soft scarf. Of course there were minor hiccups along the way (“You missed one of the slips, Castiel!”) but some hours later, the women were ecstatic at how far he was on his project (they were farther on theirs after they figured he had the hang of it, but he was still very proud of himself). When they all said their goodbyes to leave—knitting took a toll on their old hands, and they all had needy little husbands to feed (this included Cas)—they wished him well on his project.

And he was determined for an entire week.

He hid the scarf before Dean got home that night in the nightstand by his side of the bed, and Dean hadn’t expected a thing. They ate spaghetti as Dean talked about his day at the plant (“Damn Ted almost got his arm cut from chatting it up about some broad he met the night before, the idiot”), as Cas loved to feel his hunter play with his feet under the table while they ate. And when the hunter smiled, Cas couldn’t help but smile back, knowing Dean wouldn’t ask anymore when he asked what Cas did (“Just cleaned up around the house”).

When Dean was gone to work, Cas pulled out his scarf and knitted. He would not realize how much time would pass before he got his daily call from Dean about coming home, and the whole thing would be on repeat.

Then it was done.

And when Cas tied the end of the scarf from a little trick Bonnie taught him (“Dear, it’ll save you so much time when you finish all them projects”), his tired hands pulled at the yarn. He could feel it stretch just a bit, felt the soft feel of the yarn rub against his skin, and when he closed his eyes with a smile on his face, he felt a sense of pride rush through him. Of course, he was scared to show Dean, but he prayed Dean would like it enough.

The next morning came, and at the sun just rising, Dean was, as always, getting ready for work. He never got enough sleep, the poor man, but Cas was always there with a cup of coffee ready to be had and a kiss to get him through the day. Only, that morning was a little different. The cup of coffee was there (and delicious as ever), but Cas stood by the door, hands behind his back. He usually stood by the kitchen to clean up before probably going back to bed (which was true) when Dean could kiss his fallen angel over and over until Cas had to push him out the door.

Dean raised an eyebrow, shrugging on his winter jacket—curse the harsh winds from Canada. “Cas, what are you doing?”

“I have been busy, and I took your advice,” he replied.

When Cas moved toward Dean near the ugly couch (he swore he’d get a leather one if it was the last thing he did), his hands did not show. “What advice?” Dean asked.

Cas looked down. “About the hobby.”

It gave a chance for Dean to peek, and he could see a golden brown color sprout behind Cas’s grey pajamas. “Oh yeah?” Blue eyes glared at him when the green eyes were busted. “What did you do?”

“Close your eyes,” Cas whispered. Dean looked skeptical, but since Cas wasn’t fooling around, he quickly obliged.

“Alright, but make it quick. You know I gotta make it to the plant sometime today,” he joked.

“It should not be a problem,” Cas bluntly said, his quiet voice seeming loud—Cas never really liked to talk in the morning, as he was not a morning person by any means. So Dean stood there for a few seconds, going through what it could be, what Cas was trying to hide. Then he felt it start to wrap around his neck.

He opened his eyes and felt the yarn against his skin start to trap the heat, the ends of the scarf resting on his chest after it was wrapped once, twice around. The golden brown color stood out from the dark colors for the plant (blacks and grays, mostly, with dark blues mixed around). He could feel the yarn tickle at his lips. “Cas,” he whispered. “What—”

Cas kept his hands bunched at the ends of the scarf, standing close to Dean. He didn’t look up. “You had talked about keeping warm this winter, and I wished you not to get sick. I used some of our funds for knitting, so I could make this for you.”

Dean leaned a little back, trying to get Cas to look him in the eyes. Blue met green. “Wait you made this?” Cas nodded. “You serious?”

Cas, again, nodded. “Women from the church had helped. They thought I should make something for you because I am grateful to have you.”

Dean felt his face heat, guessing his face was as red as a tomato. He was sure he’d get hell for wearing a scarf to the plant, since most of them wore some type of facemask to cover from the wind. But with a slight tug he felt from Cas on the scarf, he didn’t really care, and he leaned down to meet the slightly chapped lips with his own. He hummed, barely pulling away from Cas’s lips to look at him. “You know—” kiss, “I could—” kiss, “show you how—” kiss, “grateful—” kiss, with a slight massage at the hips and content humming from both, “I am to have you,” kiss.

Cas squeezed the ends of the scarf. “I thought you were in a hurry to get to work earlier,” he whispered, the hot breath tickling at Dean.

Dean smirked. “I can think of other ways to spend my time.”

Cas hummed, leaning up to kiss him once more before letting go of the scarf, letting his hands rub down Dean’s chest. Dean just sighed. “So can I,” Oh, Dean knew why he loved Cas sometimes. “Get home on time?”

And Dean nodded, tucking his face into the new scarf his partner made him. Cas wished he had a camera to show how cute Dean looked with his face pressed against the yarn. “You got it, babe,” he whispered, the words muffled. Cas smiled as he pushed Dean out the door for another start of the work day.

Of course, Cas couldn't let him leave without one more tug of the scarf for one more kiss. Being late five minutes never hurt anyone.


End file.
